It was a poem by W.S. Merwin (“The Judgment of Paris”) that finally opened up mythology to me. The poem recounts the event with which the Trojan War began, when the goddesses Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite appeared before Paris in an impromptu beauty contest. Paris chooses Aphrodite, and a war between the gods is set off that, as inevitably happens, leads to war among men.

It’s possible that reading this for the first time I was distracted by the vision of three goddesses appearing naked before some poor shepherd (A seize ans on est farouche…), or that at that point I had not yet realized that the caprices of gods do not, like those of men, arise from desire but from what – not who, for gods do not have souls – they are. It was not three women that stood before Paris, but three visions of womanhood, and as Merwin illustrates so brilliantly, it was Paris’ choice between those ideals that necessitated the Trojan War.

(It’s hard to tell if the ancient Greeks were even aware that they were using mythology to describe the relationships between ideals; really, it wasn’t until the Platonists and in particular the Neo-Platonists came along that the gods were actually identified as Forms.)

There’s a story about Artemis (Diana), who wasn’t there at the Judgment of Paris (for reasons that ought to become clear), that’s particularly lovely when read in this light. Artemis, of course, is the virgin huntress – flashing hair, long, strong limbs, unapproachable and wild. One night Actaeon, who has been out hunting with his dogs and his friends, comes across her in her sacred cave bathing, and sees her, just for an instant, naked. In anger she splashes him with water and he transforms into the shape of a white stag. Complete with antlers, which as everyone knows are worn by cervines only during mating season (and who give us one meaning of the word horny). Bewildered, Actaeon runs off to look for help. His dogs scent him, but as prey, not as their master. After a lengthy chase they catch him and bring him to ground. As it’s described in “The Epic of Hades”: ~~~ And when I strove to check their savagery, Speaking with words; no voice articulate came, Only a dumb, low bleat. Then all the throng Leapt swift upon me and tore me as I lay ~~~ It’s poor form to give out the moral to a story, so the meaning of the dogs is left as an exercise to the reader.